


Redolence

by Ukthxbye



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, F/M, Molly Hooper Appreciation Week, POV Sherlock Holmes, Perfume, Scents & Smells, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper Friendship, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-10 16:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15953486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ukthxbye/pseuds/Ukthxbye
Summary: "Pleasure is the flower that passes; remembrance, the lasting perfume"- Jean de BoufflersSherlock finds memories recorded by scent and how they affect him.





	1. Chapter 1

 

The unavoidable stench of formaldehyde replaced suddenly with the sweet tartness of some lingering cheap raspberry...and perhaps cherry shampoo or body gel made for a heady brew. But his nose drank it in like incense in church for prayer.  _ Store it, but ignore it, _ he thought before he could stop himself.

 

"I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee," she said with no doubt of intention. 

"Black, two sugars, please. I'll be upstairs," he said ignoring the intention.

But the scent remained in his nose and when she handed him his coffee, he drank it to attempt to clear his mind of it, and of her lips. Why did he notice her lips?

 

Christmas scents of desserts and wine filled the air in 221b but she swept in again and there is the scent of the cool air outside lingered on her coat as she slipped it off, and then her perfume. Yes perfume this time, not only her hair products, he noted to himself. Jasmine features now midst more sweet notes. And a slack-jawed Lestrade at her dress she tried much too hard to impress him with and he made a painful mistake to avoid its effect in his mind to contrast the other’s shock.   

 

His memory should record nothing. Not the softness of her cheek, or her look of surprise and the delight it shot to his heart with a spark as he apologized. But it recorded nonetheless. That fragrance inhaled into his nose and bloodstream as his kiss grazed her cheek.  _ Damn, _ he smelled it again on someone on the tube. It's different on their skin, but the jasmine is there and he responded without thought. 

 

He goes to Barts and lied to her, "Yes it's for a case of course."

"It's a bit embarrassing. It's not expensive or anything I just liked it.  It's a Britney Spears perfume called Fantasy," she giggled.

He gave a terse smile, "Thank you that helps immensely."  Recorded and in a room now.

 

He smelled it on her pillowcase as he slept on her bed after his "fall." He prepared to leave for God knows how long. He cared not as he drifted to sleep how cheap it smelled; the jasmine was enough to soothe him to uninterrupted slumber

 

And in the depths of eastern Europe cities he roamed, his system shocked again by a young woman wearing a similar scent, drawing that thread through the needle and sewing him back to Molly. And his thoughts strayed to her room inside his head in his fitful sleep as he traveled home on the plane with Mycroft; his work complete.

 

She hugged him suddenly and let go just as quickly. She apologized. He did not return it physically. But there was a new smell wafting off her and his heart fell in spite of him. He smiled and she back at him, that deep grin but he suspected it no longer belonged to him only as it once did.  _ No, _ what was he thinking; her scents and her smiles never belonged to him alone.

 

He saw the ring and risked it again, and asked her to stand beside him in his work. Like signing his name, he knew its effects if he was honest. But he was too far gone in his mind to realize his own tactics, preferring to stand by his logic that he wasn't testing waters he dare not dive in. With this new him, this new man in her life, she chose another flower; an English rose as the base. So familiar, common and bland, same as the scent of chips, only enticing because of hunger. He searched for the old scent of jasmine as he kissed her cheek, a single thread which he kept sewn between them. It is there in her clothes; he caught the ghost of it and his heart ached and warmed at the same time. But if she must go to English rose; he must let her. But on those threads held a hope he dared not speak even to himself as he walked away.

 

In the ambulance, as she leaned in, she checked his pulse at his neck and then stuck the stethoscope to his chest and a timid hand on his shoulder to steady herself. In the nearness and his state, he slipped his hand up to her blouse top, unbuttoning the top button deftly as she gasped,

"Sherlock, really, what the hell?" she gritted through her teeth. She did not look up at him.

He curled his lip up, watching her throat gulp. The heat of her skin flushing sent the notes of her perfume to his nose like dandelion seeds blowing in the wind. He captured them and spread them across his mind like a balm to stop his hands as he focused. 

 

_ How did she change again? _ He had the same cologne for ten years now. But here it was. Not that he didn't like this one the most as it mixed with her flesh and sweat. It was all the more powerful on her skin than on her pillow he selfishly still sought out. The jasmine returned with sophistication brought into clear view of her maturity into herself. This was a scent of a woman who knew what she wanted, but oh, he sees she still won't take it. Not that he knows how to let her yet himself. Even in this state, he could only risk that button.  Cardamom and champagne and labdanum called him to taste but he knew it was too far already. And she sat back, taking his gaze in with pursed lips. He strayed his thoughts to biting them, but he knew a slap would be the result if he heeded those impulses. 

 

She spoke words, but they blurred under the spice of her perfume in his nose...and her hand on his knee to right herself, the tingling like ants crawling up his thigh. He matched it in the feigned act to steady himself; risked his palm to rest on the top her knee and his fingers resting lightly on her thigh. Ah yes, the gulp again, he watched her throat letting the drugs in his blood and the pain find hope in it.

 

Always a hint, or a touch enough to keep the one thread of the cord between them intact...until, well he can't be sure if there is an "until" to be completed. 

 

"Pleasure is the flower that passes; remembrance, the lasting perfume" he recalled as he walked from the ambulance with one back glance to assure of his plan she knew in detail and hated all the same. So many flowers passed between them. He desired not to die today and to experience her scent with a clearer head and perhaps a compliment properly given for it for once in his life. 

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Games. He played plenty of them in his own time, but none match his sister’s zeal. Torture is relative and here now she found a way in that no one else ever had. John uttering the name of the Woman like she mattered now, enduringly and maddeningly shallow. For he knew with that plaque that in the depths, his sister found the thread. She stood with scissors poised and then handed them to him. He spied that jumper, the threads clinging with the apparition of jasmine before, and if he clawed past his fear he recalled the redolence. But oh there is it, the confessions forced. But no hope this time. How it will likely all end for him in the next room. It was said and released never to be hidden again. But now it means everything is lost, possessions he never claimed are now in his custody, temporary as that may be. Wood splinters under his hands before he can repossess himself. The resin scent of pine fills the air of the dank room, torn by his fire like sacrifice and cleans it of its sins. With it, he traveled onward to fate and to the end.

London rain and mold and old mingle in his nose as he banged on her door desperately, nearly striking her as she snatched it open. He chances not a glace or gaze. His need avalanched and covered her with no room for air and she followed its path until she crawled out gasping for air. He has done wrong again though in the opposite direction than the past. But he clung nonetheless never allowing her space for her essence to leave his nose. That faded jasmine bloom, her cherry shampoo and that hint of chemical all mixed and he held it as tightly as he held her. It was relinquished but not given yet. But a blessing when he finally released his hold; he found her returning to it on her own accord. The thread remained intact and whole to stitch together open wounds bleeding out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> decided to continue on to post TFP with this perspective.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Mouse9 for her encouragement to do this piece.
> 
> The ending is sort of vague...perhaps I will write more for this later. But I want it to linger here for a bit. 
> 
> The quote is obscure but fitting. 
> 
> This is for day 2 Molly Hooper Appreciation Week - Scent


End file.
